


Karcondykat

by Broba



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BDSM, Comedy, F/M, Kinkmeme, Pain, Painplay, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broba/pseuds/Broba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme prompt! This called for a BDSM relationship between Condy and Karkat and, I quote, "circumstances arise where he doms the fuck out of her."</p><p>Aww yeah, let's get some harsh on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karcondykat

Her Imperious Condescension! Mistress of a thousand vanquished worlds, worshipful idol to conquered billions. Mistress and dominatrix of empire, lady of That Which Is Beheld, empress, destroyer. Truly all things to all peoples, the ultimate Answer, the One Who's Hand Falls Heavily, all this and more she was. Her rage was the quickening of nations, her judgement was absolute. Every world conquered added to her titles, every people that bowed graciously before her might added to her legend. Where she went, all were lessened because she, Condesce, was all.  
  
The Grand Fortification, that massed redoubt of masonry and steel which hunkered like an angry bear atop the mightiest peak of all Alternia shuddered with the echoes of her anger. Tonight, the Condesce was angered, and the mountain itself shivered. She strode along corridor and thoroughfare, trailed as always by a corps of obsequious courtiers endlessly fawning and worshipping her. Ever since the great return, when she had come back to the mother world to reclaim her rightful seat of power, they had become used to her increasingly whimsical tempers. In open space, at the forefront of the conquering horde, she had been a fixed point around which orbited the whirling engine of righteous violence that was the Alternian fleet and she had been content in conquest. Things had been orderly, there had been a certain way of things that had been unchanged for aeons.  
  
Now, however, she had moods. Whims. She had, though none would dare to say it aloud but that they would face immediate destruction, tantrums.  
  
This was proving to be a particular one. She powered through the Great Fortification like a great black thunderhead of rage, fully fourteen feet of angry troll, her hair flowing behind her like a malign carpet, the thick ropes and strands leaping and coiling around whatever errant wrists and ankles they may find. Her attendants buzzed around her like agitated bees, desperate to calm or at least placate her wrath. For all that she was a murderous goddess of pain and universal anguish, they still adored her because she was truly glorious. The expanding and collapsing vascular system of any troll would look upon her and feel a surge of pride and delight because she was theirs, she crushed them in order to make them stronger, in order to make them the finely honed and sharpened  blade of destiny that she wielded against the heavens. She admonished them and damned them, and she did it because she was their adoring empress.  
  
Their empress had been kept waiting. That was bad. She had issued a simple demand and she had not been sated immediately, that was worse. Now the item that she had called for had finally been delivered. The herald of delivery waited patiently in the great audience hall, bearing a small wooden box. He knew that his life was very likely to end soon, but he served his empress. When they had told him to wait there while they told the Condesce that he had arrived, the herald knew he was counting his final breaths.  
  
“Where is it?” She passed through the specially build archway leading into the hall, with the added height that had been necessary to accommodate her horns towering above her royal scalp.  
“Imperious majesty,” the herald began, kneeling and squeezing his eyes shut, and presenting the box. “I bring to you-”  
“Silence you miserable fool!”  
She swept one clawed hand down and fetched up the box he held. Opening it carefully she examined what laid within. “Is this it?”  
“As you commanded,” the herald whispered, “if it please your imperious excellency.”  
“Good!” She hissed, licking her neon-pink lips, “yes, good! I am pleased!”  
Collectively, the courtiers heaved a sigh of relief. Perhaps this mood would be as short-lived as it had been intense. The Condesce turned, flicking a thick cloak of hair behind her and wandered away while staring down at the tiny thing in her hands.  
“You have done well, herald,” she muttered.  
“I- I live to serve!” The herald swelled with pride.  
“Mmm. That is why I am merciful.” She snapped her fingers, “kill him quickly.”  
  
She paused, as the crowd of attendants advanced on the herald with their official murdering staves, and after a moment's reflection added “then kill yourselves.”  
It would be done. All served the empress.  
  
The Condesce made her way, alone now, to her personal Respiratory in the grandest most forbidding wing of the Great Fortification. The panelled walls were decorated with exotic woods plundered from a thousand different worlds that had been burned to a crisp only so that nothing so beautiful and perfect could grace any other walls. The carpeting was woven from the woollen fur of a thousand extinct species, several of which would not have been made so if the Condesce hadn't changed her mind about the colour half-way through and insisted it all be redone. The forbidding doors of solid brass-etched obsidian to her private chamber swung ponderously aside as she approached, and closed after her with a clash of finality.  
  
The Condesce slowed down as she approached the wide, rounded couch that was mounted before her mighty and forbidding viewing device. It was the centre of her sanctum sanctorum, the place where she could at last relax and cast her gaze over any aspect of her empire. She was alone, except of course for her chosen consort. The one troll that she had elected, in her infinite and unassailable wisdom, to share her quarters and her affections.  
“I'm here,” she said, in soft tones that set her hair throbbing, “we had to wait, but at last it is here. And just in time.”  
“It's here?” A voice from the other side of the couch that was reedy and high pitched.  
“Yes, my darling, and just in time,” she smiled broadly, showing row after row of cruelly serrated teeth, and held up the flat black plastic case, “for movie night!”  
“Let me see!”  
  
Karkat vaulted up onto the back of the couch eagerly and made grabby-hands at her. She passed him the DVD case and he trilled happily as he ran his hands over it.  
“Oh yes,” he breathed softly, “this is it, this is the one.”  
“Are you pleased, my darling?”  
“Oh yes-s-s-s,” he was gone, he was in his own place, “this is the one.”  
She narrowed her eyes, careful to choose her words. Not too soon, she had to reel him in. He was the most cunning and flighty of prey, “good, I made sure to ask for the one you told me you wanted, I think I got it right.”  
  
She pitched that last part carefully, she needed to rouse up just enough of his curiosity, if she simply came out and told him then he would descend into a pit of angst and despair beyond her reach, rather then where she really wanted his emotions to go.  
  
“What,” he paused, “do you mean? You got what I said, right?”  
“Yes of course darling,” she tugged at her lip with one immaculate finger, making a show of thinking about it, “You wanted Wherein-It-Is-Determined-That-The-Meeting-Of-Troll-Harry-And-Troll-Sally-Forms-The-Basis-Of-An-Extended-Series-Of-Vignettes-Exploring-The-Fluctuation-Of-Flushed-And-Pale-Red-Quadrants-Between-Initially-Platonic-Matesprits, yes?”  
“Of course I said  Wherein-It-Is-Determined-That-The-Meeting-Of-Troll-Harry-And-Troll-Sally-Forms-The-Basis-Of-An-Extended-Series-Of-Vignettes-Exploring-The-Fluctuation-Of-Flushed-And-Pale-Red-Quadrants-Between-Initially-Platonic-Matesprits, we both know I said  Wherein-It-Is-Determined-That-The-Meeting-Of-Troll-Harry-And-Troll-Sally-Forms-The-Basis-Of-An-Extended-Series-Of-Vignettes-Exploring-The-Fluctuation-Of-Flushed-And-Pale-Red-Quadrants-Between-Initially-Platonic-Matesprits, but what I am asking,” Karkat paused and took a deep breath, “what I am asking of you, my sweet, my one and only, my precious and most imperious empress, is- did you get the wide-screen special edition remastered print of  Wherein-It-Is-Determined-That-The-Meeting-Of-Troll-Harry-And-Troll-Sally-Forms-The-Basis-Of-An-Extended-Series-Of-Vignettes-Exploring-The-Fluctuation-Of-Flushed-And-Pale-Red-Quadrants-Between-Initially-Platonic-Matesprits like I asked- like I SPECIFICALLY asked- you to?”  
“Oh my,” Condesce trilled, trying not to show the rising and potent sense of excitement and delight that throbbed inside her, “I- I think I did-”  
“You- you think? That's all this is to you? Our movie night- our actual pre-agreed FUCKING movie night, and you think you got the right one?”  
“Don't be angry,” she pouted, bending over to gently stroke the length of her horns over his little nubs, “you know I can't manage when you're angry with me.”  
“Angry? Why would I be angry? What would I possibly be angry about? I mean, it's not like I put any time and EFFORT into making everything PERFECT, it's not like I only asked you to do ONE THING! ONE THING for ME!” His breathing was becoming ragged, his chest heaved and sighed, his fist clenched beside him and the DVD case shook in his outstretched hand- it was all the Condesce could do not to leap on him right then and there and demand he ravage her, but she knew that he still had some way to go yet.  
“Oh, darling, don't worry,” She smiled sweetly, her horns sawing against his nubs as she dealt the final blow, “it doesn't make any difference anyway, does it?”  
  
That did it. She saw it in the way his left eye briefly took on a life of it's own and glared off to the side, veering madly before resuming glaring at her. She hoped he wouldn't have another nose bleed.  
  
“Are... are you fucking me?” he whispered, “are you fucking me? Right now, right in the face? Because that's what it feels like when I have to stand here and listen to you talk. It feels like you're word-fucking me right in my scream duct,” his voice was a low, threatening growl and she shuddered, developing goosebumps all over. In all of Alternia there was only one troll who had ever dared to become angry with her, though it took a little prodding in the right direction.  
“I'm sorry darling, why don't we just...” she licked her lips, “watch it anyway.”  
“I thought we had been over this,” he was actually vibrating with anger, “I explained to you why the PERFECT print is a necessity in order to enjoy the proper romantic effect of the film. Do you think I want to sit here and watch some shitty 4:3 bootleg fucking grainy-ass video transfer bullSHIT? Is that what you think? That I want to vomit out every shred of dignity in my body? Watching this pile of FUCK? I seriously want to know! Tell me! Don't just stand there staring at me like I am about to fail to stare at this EFFORT you've managed to drag out of whatever dank pit they dug to house this shit!”  
  
He flung the DVD case to the floor, and the Condesce fell to her knees instantly, the crack of plastic against exquisite marble was all it took to abolish her pride, and strip away her will. She bowed her head, now only towering over Karkat by a more marginal amount.  
“Forgive me?” She whispered, as she shivered with perverse delight.  
  
He slapped her. He actually drew back his hand and smacked her across the cheek- with the DVD case. It made a terrific crack of sound, and she raised a hand to her cheek which was already violently inflamed with a blush of excitement and humiliation at her position crouching before this tiny mutant. She was shocked into silence, just as she always was when he hit her. She loved it best when he started by hitting her.  
“You make me do this!” He shrieked, “you ask for it! You send off the fucking coupon and wait twenty eight days shipping and you get what you fucking ordered!”  
“I'm sorry!” She squealed, and he hit her again.  
“You're not fucking SORRY! You're a fucking FILM ILLITERATE and that I will NOT forgive! I'm- I'm-” he groaned and clenched his head, as a sheer overwhelming hate-gasm shook his entire thinkpan.  
“I didn't mean it!”  
“YES! YES YOU DID! You actually thought it makes no difference to INSIST on a fucking decent image quality and an aspect ratio that has, listen carefully now, actual fucking FIDELITY to the VISION of the director! This is auteur theory you fucking fuck! Troll Rob Reiner is fucking WEEPING right now!”  
“Darling-”  
“APOLOGISE TO TROLL ROB REINER!”  
“I-”  
“TELL TROLL BILLY CRYSTAL WHAT YOU DID!”  
“Bu-”  
“TELL TROLL MEG RYAN YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT HER FUCKING CRAFT!”  
“I'm-”  
“WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY TO TROLL DENNIS GAMIELLO?”  
“Who?”  
“HE WAS THE KEY GRIP, IT'S AN IMPORTANT FUCKING JOB WHICH YOU WOULD APPRECIATE IF YOU GAVE A SHIT ABOUT LIGHTING! YOU SHIT!”  
  
The Condesce moaned and dropped to her side, leaning on an elbow. He was right, of course. She knew nothing, not about romantic cinema or the film-making process in general. He was a connoisseur who dedicated his life to perfection of taste and she felt like a lump of excrement as he screamed at her. She clawed at her tight-fitting latex bodysuit, desperate to lower herself further and present her body to his righteous vengeance. This was her punishment, and she could feel her crotch explode with heat and wetness.  
“Get up,” said Karkat with viciousness. She pulled herself to her feet slowly before he held up a hand to halt her effortlessly, “no, not like that. You know how.”  
She nodded meekly, and awkwardly shuffled back down onto her knees, placing her hands flat on the floor before her, before lowering her head till her lethal horns clacked against the floor. He raised a foot and planted it down on one of her horns, sending a thrill of delight directly down her spine to electrocute her stern.  
“I'm ready,” she said, and her voice was more firm and certain then she had expected it to be.  
“Good,” he snarled, “I am the king of pain.”  
“Yes.”  
  
Her hair was limp and pliant as he seized a tiny fistful and dragged her, like a massive but cowed beast, to their place of reckoning- the low dais with shackles bolted to a wooden frame, the place where she was to be broken when she angered him. Her vision had narrowed and contracted to a thin bar of light, broken up by glittering tears, and when she opened her eyes again she realised that she was bound. She was staring upward at the ceiling, and her wrists were bound together above her head while her ankles were spread wide apart and similarly hobbled with chain. She yelped suddenly as Karkat snapped shut the final manacle around her wrist, pinching sensitive flesh.  
“Sure, yell,” he muttered, “see what fucking happens. I dare you.”  
“Sorry, Master mine,”  
“Stop apologising,”  
“S- yes.”  
“I don't want you to be sorry,” he wiped a wrist across the bridge of his nose, despite everything there were tears in his eyes, “I just want you to hurt, now.”  
“I'm ready, Master.”  
She saw him looming over her, as he raised up on tiptoes to lean over her upturned face. She looked into his eyes, and nodded slowly.  
  
Karkat began with the flogger- the little tawse that seemed barely able to swat a fly and yet left massive palm-sized welts over her breasts and thighs as he worked on her. She howled and cried openly in her misery as he went about his business, making her body suffer in complement to her mind as she screamed. He mounted her, sitting astride her midriff easily and planting a hand on her breast, gripping a handful of her nipple in agony as he smote her flesh with the tawse. She pleaded and screamed, reduced to a ragged throaty howl as he pounded her breast and left her vividly bruised.  
  
When she saw through bleary vision that he was fetching a long, leather lash she only had the strength to shake her head and beg him “no, no,” before he began to beat her. The thundercrack of the lash through the air made her flinch, and only after it had already scored a path across her body and retracted did the pain come. By now her mind had darkened and she had retreated into the place she wanted the most, the space in her mind where she could pull herself into a tiny ball and be weak, and be small. She cried openly, begging and pleading with her Master, as her walls came down and she found herself utterly vulnerable. It was the place she needed to be, the place where she did not have to be the one who commanded legions and determined the fate of a galaxy. This was the place where she was reduced to her ultimate essence, the smallest fragment of her remaining self which was vulnerable and weak, and able to give everything to her Master.  
  
When the tears ran and her massive body heaved and wracked under Karkat, he stilled her with a hand to her chest, like a skilled rider on a flighty beast. He stroked tiny fingers over her throbbing neck and heaving bosom, losing his own self in her enormity.  
“Shh,” he whispered, “shh.”  
“Uh, uh,” she moaned and grunted, “I'm suh-sorry,”  
“I know,”  
“M-Master,”  
“I know.”  
She began to speak again but her throat closed up around tears and she shook violently for a moment, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. He just smiled and went on stroking her.  
“It's all right,” he crooned, “just make sure you don't do it again,”  
She sighed, a harsh throbbing exhalation as she let out the guilt and pain when he finally gave her the approval and benediction.  
“Yes,”  
“Or I'll have to teach you a lesson again.”  
“Yes-s-s-s.”  
  



End file.
